


Running to My Soul

by Kayleegee



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 12:33:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3851101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayleegee/pseuds/Kayleegee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Al Sah-him does not dream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Running to My Soul

The days are long and exhausting. He is up at dawn for training and conditioning. There are ceremonies and rituals to learn of and take part in. Many hours are spent at Ra’s side, listening to his stories and lessons of how the League works and his place in it. After dinner he retires to his bedchambers and makes quick work of his nightly rituals before slipping into his bed for another night. Al Sah-him does not dream.

But Oliver Queen does. There are nights he dreams of Starling City, standing atop Queen Consolidated, surveying the city lights, listening to the car horns and police sirens. Sometimes he dreams of the Queen Mansion, sitting in the living room on the couch, his feet up on the coffee table, watching with curiosity at the latest Housewives of Who Cares. There are nights he finds himself in Russia with Anatoli, his hands wrapped around a dead informant's neck. He dreams of many different places and times, but there is always one constant. Felicity is always there.

Tonight, Oliver finds himself on Lian Yu, his quiver on his back and Yao Fei’s bow in his hand running through the trees towards the plane remnants. It’s overgrown with ivy and tree branches. He hasn't been here in sometime. He stops in the doorway of the plane. She is sitting on a blanket she has laid out, her hair spilling down around her shoulders, curled softly. She holds a glass of wine loosely in her hand. There is a bottle sitting next to her, along with an empty wine glass. 

He slips off his quiver and lays his bow down and sits down next to her. She pours him a glass of the 1982 Rothschild, smiling as she hands it over, “It’s so good. This must be what money tastes like. You’d know, is this what money tastes like?” she laughs as she watches Oliver bristle at that comment. He takes a sip, taking in the hints of cherry and vanilla. It’s a great wine, and he’s glad to share it with her, and yet…

“We drank this in the Foundry,” Oliver says absently, staring at his glass. A longing feeling starts to settle in his stomach, like a rock.

Felicity nods, “We did.”

“You were wearing a black dress, your hair was up,” he says, trying so hard to picture that memory. It’s blurry, but he can picture sitting in their respective chairs, Felicity lamenting the broken glass of the wine bottle all over the floor, “I opened the bottle with an arrow.”

Felicity finishes off her glass, “You’re right...show off.” 

“I was trying to impress you,” Oliver says, a bit wistfully. The memory is coming more into focus. He can picture Felicity spinning slowly in her chair as Oliver told her how he had tracked down the elusive bottle of wine. 

“You've never needed to try with me,” Felicity says slowly. Oliver closes his eyes a moment, the ache of wanting her almost too much. 

“You always see the best in me,” Oliver whispers, his mind clouding with his own doubts about himself. If she only knew. He’s shared some dark moments of his life with her, but there are far worse things he has done then snap the neck of his sister’s drug dealer or lied about Sara’s death on the Gambit. 

Felicity takes his glass of wine out of his hands and sets it down next to her own, and then takes his hands in her own and says, quite simply, “There is still good in you, Oliver.” She squeezes his hands, and waits for him. He knows he should nod his head in agreement, so he does. She smirks and he knows she doesn’t believe in his agreement. She always knows. 

Felicity pulls him down onto the blanket next to her and they lie on their backs, shoulder to shoulder, looking up at the hole in the plane’s ceiling, revealing a clear, black night. Felicity grasps Oliver’s hand and says, “It’s a beautiful night.” 

Oliver squeezes her hand, and turns his face towards the night sky.

“Hold tight to me,” she whispers, “I’m not letting go.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Georgia by Vance Joy.


End file.
